Forgotten

 

I look at the clock

of my former life

just after eleven —

a time I would have been

at church

with my family

remembering where I would have sat

remembering those

I would have been with

and wonder

if I am forgotten

They continued on

as I walked away

making other decisions

which I won’t discuss —

the merits

or recompense of

There is the occasional check‑in

we moved on

to other relationships

not severing this one

just cluttering

the pathways of connection

How long did it take

before I slipped

from your active concern

before I drifted

from your memories

And how long

before I let myself believe

that distance

was only logistics —

an hour away

a wife in a bad way

the reasons

I offer my conscience

Have I embraced

that forgetfulness

to ease the ache

to allow myself to continue

without the concern

of your opinions

Or is that

just the lie

I tell myself

© Ron Simpson Jr. 

August 9, 2026